Today we have the release day for Playing it Cool by Amy Andrews!
Check it out and grab your copy today!
About Playing It Cool
Harper Nugent might have a little extra junk in her trunk, but her stepbrother calling her out on it is the last straw… When rugby hottie, Dexter Blake, witnesses the insult, he surprises Harper by asking her out. In front of her dumbass brother. Score! Of course, she knows it’s not for reals, but Dex won’t take no for an answer.
Dexter Blake’s life revolves around rugby with one hard and fast rule: no women. Sure, his left hand is getting a workout, but he's focused on his career for now. Then he overhears an asshat reporter belittle the curvy chick he'd been secretly ogling. What's a guy to do but ask her out? It’s just a little revenge against a poser, and then he'll get his head back in the game.
But the date is better than either expected. So is the next one. And the next. And the heat between them…sizzles their clothes right off.
Suddenly, this fake relationship is feeling all too real…
Exclusive Excerpt
Dexter Blake liked a woman with some junk in her trunk. And the
tall, curvy chick on the sidelines was packing a whole lot of booty. She had
one of those itty-bitty waists, too. And her cups floweth’d over.
Staring at her chest
was practically a religious experience.
Unfortunately, she
only had eyes for Chuck Nugent, the pretty boy sports reporter for Channel
Five. He was currently doing his sycophantish spiel on the field, a cameraman
following him around as he interviewed the players still milling around for
their obligatory post-match interviews.
She was impatient
for his attention, too, if her pacing was anything to go by.
Lucky bastard.
As far as Dex was
concerned, she could keep pacing. Watching everything jiggle was the cherry on
the top of his pie tonight. There was nothing better than winning a hard-fought
game of rugby union. But watching a fine-looking woman strutting her stuff came
a very close second.
“I’d say don’t look
now, booty at six o’clock, but I can see you’re ahead of me.”
Dex smiled at Tanner
Stone, the captain of the Sydney Smoke and his good mate, as he pulled up
beside him then dropped at the waist to stretch out his hamstrings.
“I don’t know what
you’re talking about.”
“Hey, Dex,” Bodie
Webb said as he pulled up on the other side. “Your kinda ass on the sideline.”
A low whistle came
from behind them. “I hope you’re planning on hitting that, Dex,” Lincoln Quinn
murmured as he also appeared, casually waving at some teenage girls hollering
at him from the dispersing crowd.
Dex chuckled. “Since
when did you all turn into pimps?”
Linc clapped him on
the back. “Just lending a hand.”
“Thanks. I can get
my own ass.”
And, sadly, as much
as sideline-chick ticked every box, her ass was off-limits. One look at her
told him she was the kind of girl a guy loved. Got into a relationship with.
The kind he married. Made babies with.
She was the
commitment type.
Over a decade of
avoiding romantic entanglements had alerted Dex to the signs, and this woman
had I don’t do casual written all over her.
And he didn’t do
commitment. His career came first. He’d fought hard for his place on the team,
and at thirty, he probably only had a few good years left. He couldn’t afford
to take his eyes off the ball for a second. He knew how easy it was to lose
everything. To have it all go to shit when you least expected it.
He was never going
back to Perry Hill.
There would be time
for commitment later. Rugby was it for now.
“But you don’t,”
Tanner said.
“Just because I
don’t walk around with a permanent hard-on like Linc—”
“Hey!”
Everyone ignored
Linc’s half-hearted protest. The cocky back rower wore his horniness like a
badge of frickin’ honour. “—doesn’t mean I go without.”
And if he did—it was
none of their damn business.
Chuck finished his
interview with the skipper of the losing team and, spotting Tanner, headed
toward them.
“Christ,” Dex said.
“Dickhead approaching.”
Tanner sighed. “Best
to just think of our contracts and smile for the camera.”
“Ooh, helllllo,”
Bodie purred. “She’s on the move, too.”
Dex’s gaze flicked
to the woman again, tracking her progress as she hurried after Chuck. Her hips
swung enticingly and her chest moved interestingly beneath her T-shirt.
Christ, it was a turn-on.
“Chuck,” she called,
hurrying to catch up with him.
Idiot. Dex would never let a woman trail behind him like that. Not when
she could walk in front and he could check out her luscious ass.
“What in hell does
she see in that guy?” Bodie asked.
Dex had no idea, but
the urge to throttle the smarmy reporter—something that was never far from the
surface—spewed like the sudden rush of a geyser in his chest.
“Chuck,” she called,
louder this time, almost caught up with him.
Dickhead stopped.
Turned. Then glared before looking around him as if he was embarrassed. He
hissed, “What the fuck, Harper?” He’d kept his voice low, but the edge of fury
carried it farther than Dex was sure Chuck would have liked.
“I told you to stay
in the stands, not embarrass me by running onto the goddamn field in a pair
of jeans you’ve barely managed to squeeze your lard ass into. I have a certain
image to maintain, and it does not involve being followed around by fat
chicks.”
Dex’s jaw clamped
tight as the hackles rose on the back of his neck. Fat chick? He could
see the stain of red creeping up her neck from here, and the spewing geyser in
his chest turned viscous, like lava.
“God, he’s a
fuckwit,” Bodie whispered.
“Excuse me,” Dex
growled.
Lava burning in his
chest, he strode purposefully toward Chuck and the woman, who was hissing
something back at the reporter Dex couldn’t quite hear. He was sweaty and dirty
and every damn muscle bitched at him, but Dex paid none of it any heed.
The urge to deck the
smarmy front man rode him hard, but by the time he pulled up beside Chuck, Dex
had another plan.
A better plan.
One that involved
less potential penalty. And more potential booty.
“Hey, Chuck,” he
said, forcing himself to smile as he clapped the reporter hard on the back. It
was satisfying to hear a strained, involuntary cough from the man.
“Oh Dex, hi,” Chuck
said, sleazy smile in place, turning as if he were trying to block the woman
from Dex’s view.
No chance with those
puny coat hanger shoulders.
“Great game
tonight,” Chuck enthused. “If you could just give me thirty seconds, I’ll be
right over.”
“Actually, Chuck,”
Dex glanced at the woman and smiled at her. She was even more magnificent up
close, with a whole lot of pissed-off glittering in the depths of her Marsala
brown eyes. “I was hoping you might introduce me to the lady.”
It was amusing to
watch the pretty boy almost choke on his tongue. For a moment, Dex thought he
was going to say lady, what lady? But he finally turned to acknowledge
the woman behind him. “Of course. This is Harper…Nugent. My…”
The woman—Harper—folded
her arms across her chest, and all the blood rushed from Dex’s big head to his
little one. “Come on, Chuck, you can say it,” she said, her voice dry with
amused sarcasm. “It starts with S. Ssssister.”
Something eased in
Dex’s chest. So she was not getting naked with Pretty Boy. There was a
God.
“Step!” Chuck said
quickly, his voice sharp.
She rolled her eyes
as she smiled at Dex and offered her hand. He absently noted there were streaks
of paint on her fingers. “Nice to meet you.”
Dex was a tall guy.
Big. Not as big as some of the team’s front row, but he was still six foot and
had trouble buying shirts that weren’t tight in the shoulders. This tall—hell, Amazonian—woman
could look him straight in the eye. He’d never met a woman who could do that in
a pair of flats, and it was a strange kind of turn-on.
“The pleasure’s
entirely mine,” he murmured, returning her firm and sure grip with one of his
own.
He liked a woman who
could handshake like a boss.
“Yes…anyway,” Chuck
said, his expression pained, as Harper’s hand fell away. “Harper has to run. A
girlfriend crisis or something.”
Dex’s eyebrow kicked
up. A girlfriend crisis? A crushing sense of disappointment slugged him in the
chest.
She was a lesbian?
She laughed and
shook her head. “Not that kind of girlfriend.”
His gaze was drawn
to her mouth, a plush, sexy crescent in the midst of her flawless olive
complexion. He didn’t think she was wearing any makeup, but she was sporting
some kind of clear lip gloss that emphasized the luscious curve of her lips.
They glistened, wet
and tempting.
Dex laughed, too, as
relief flowed like champagne bubbles through his veins. “I am so pleased
to hear that.”
Chuck cleared his
throat. “Yes. Well. I have to interview the team.” He looked pointedly at his
sister.
“Fine. Just don’t
forget to pick up Jace and Tabby after you’re done. They’re fine in the stands
with Jenny while you wrap up, but she can’t take them home and I’ve told your
mother that you’re bringing her kids now instead of me.”
“I’m not going to
bloody forget them, Harper,” Chuck replied testily.
She shot an
apologetic smile at Dex then turned to go. He and Chuck watched her. The
outline of her sexy, rounded butt in the denim of her jeans actually made Dex a
little light-headed. It was a sight to behold.
“God, she has a fat
ass,” Chuck muttered, disgust colouring his voice.
Dex’s hands
tightened to fists. What a monumental wanker. He opened his mouth before
he engaged his brain. “Harper! Wait up.”
She looked over her
shoulder, a puzzled expression drawing a crease between her brows. “Dex,” Chuck
said, putting a hand on Dex’s arm as he took a step in Harper’s direction.
“Tanner’s waiting,”
Dex said, shaking off the hand before jogging the short distance to where she’d
stopped.
“Hey,” she said,
tossing the long strands of her rich dark hair behind her shoulder, clearly
still puzzled.
He smiled. “I was
hoping you might like to go out with me one night.”
She blinked, the
crease between her eyebrows almost cavernous now. “Oh.”
Dex chuckled. It
wasn’t the standard response he got from women. Normally, they were tripping
over themselves to be asked out by him. Hell, most of them didn’t wait to be
asked. It was well known that he didn’t generally date, so they were more than
happy to do the asking.
A man with a less
healthy ego might have been insulted by Harper’s tepid response. But he could
sense her reticence was real as she glanced at the guys to her left, all
gawking and smirking, clearly talking about them. Her gaze travelled over his
shoulder to where Chuck stood—glaring, if the prickle between Dex’s shoulder
blades was anything to go by.
Her gaze returned to
him. “Um…”
Hmm. Maybe this
wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought. He looked pointedly at the mobile
she held. “Give me your phone.”
She glanced at it
for a moment, frowning some more. “Why?”
Dex gave an
exaggerated sigh and plucked it out of her unresisting hand. “It’s okay,” he
assured her as she murmured a protest, and his fingers busily navigating to her
address book. “I’m just going to put my number in because obviously I don’t
have my phone available to put yours into mine.”
She crossed her arms
as she watched him enter the details, and it took him twice as long.
“There,” he said,
passing the phone back to her.
She glanced at the
entry, and his heart tap-danced in his chest as a smile pulled at the curve of
her mouth. She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Dex the Stud?”
He grinned and
shrugged. “What can I say?”
“And what do you
expect me to do with this?”
“As soon as you’re
done with your girlfriend thing, give it a ring and we can set up a time and a
place for our date.”
“Well, that’s a step
up from the last guy, who put his number into my phone hoping I’d send him nude
photos,” she said, her tone flippant.
Dex blinked. What
the actual fuck? “Absolutely no class.”
“Well, to be fair,
he did request arty ones.”
He laughed. “Hey.”
He held his hands up in faux surrender. “Never let it be said that I stand in
the way of artistic expression, if you feel so inclined with my number. But
definitely lose his.”
She laughed back,
and it grabbed him by the balls. Like everything else about her, it was big and
rich and real. But then her gaze flicked over his shoulder again, and her smile
slowly slipped from her face.
Dex gave an
exaggerated sigh. “You’re not going to ring it, are you?”
She shook her head,
a glossy smile playing on her glossy mouth. “No chance in hell.”
“Why?”
She glanced at her
stepbrother again. “Some things just aren’t worth the hassle.”
Dex couldn’t agree
more. But he didn’t think Harper Nugent was one of them. Undeterred, he grabbed
for her phone again, his reflexes lightning fast after a decade of professional
rugby. “You leave me no choice,” he chided as he quickly rang his own number.
“Hi, Dex the Stud,”
he said as the ring tone eventually gave way to his message bank. “It’s Dex.”
He waggled his brows at Harper, and she smiled and rolled her eyes. “I’m
ringing to remind you to call Harper Nugent on this number and ask her on a
date again. Do not take no for an answer. Even”—he grinned at her—“if she
offers nude arty photos in lieu.”
Dex hit the end
button and passed the phone back to her. “There now. You’re in my phone. And I will
be ringing you.”
She glanced at the
phone then at him before flicking a look at the guys again. Linc was grinning
like a loon as he shot Dex two thumbs-up.
“Sure you will,” she
said, the tight, polite smile on her face making Dex want to slap Linc upside
the head.
She bade him
farewell and walked away, and for the first time in his life, Dex looked
forward to something other than rugby and inflicting bodily harm on Linc.
…
Harper’s phone rang three hours later. She was a bottle of wine
down with her best friend Em, who was in the middle of a
boyfriend-number-sixteen crisis. Em was cute, peppy, and up for anything.
She just had really
lousy taste in men.
When Em went into a
relationship, she went all in, something which Harper had always admired even
if her friend consistently chose the wrong guys to be “in” with. The type who
were only out for a good time, not a long time. But she always
sprang back, and Harper was in awe of her friend’s tenacity and absolute
conviction that the right person was out there for everyone.
Although not
tonight. While Harper was drinking wine, Em’s breakup booze of choice was
butterscotch schnapps, and tonight it was leading her to seriously consider
becoming a nun. To prove her seriousness, she was currently Googling how to
re-virginise.
So, Harper was both
tipsy and completely distracted when she answered the phone.
“Hi,” she said as Em
made gagging noises at pictures on a website she was skimming.
“Hey, Harper.”
The hairs on the
back of her neck stood up in instant awareness as they had earlier tonight when
Dexter Blake had singled her out for a bit of attention.
Her mind went blank
for a beat or two. He rang?
Of course he had.
She had clearly been some kind of bet or dare or something with his team
buddies. At twenty-three, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been the butt of
some douche’s idea of a good time. I dare you to ask the fat chick out. Snigger,
snort, backslap.
Some men were such
assholes.
But it had been so
good, even momentarily, to put her sanctimonious step-brother in his place.
“Harper? It’s Dex
the Stud. Remember me?”
His voice was warm
and rich with amusement, and Harper shut her eyes. Remember him? She’d
relived him asking her out about a dozen times, no matter how much she’d told
herself it had all been some sick joke. It had been the first thing she’d told
Em after her friend had stopped crying and asked for something happy to cheer
her up.
Then they’d Googled
him.
“Harper?”
His voice was
sharper this time and Harper pulled herself together, sitting straighter in the
chair. “Yes. Of course… Hi.”
“You sound
kinda…outta it.”
Harper eyed the
empty wine bottle and the full one she’d just cracked open. “Well…I’m kinda
drunk, so that’s probably why.”
His low chuckle slid
seductive fingers down her neck. “The girlfriend emergency?”
“Yup.”
Em looked over her
shoulder. “Who is it?”
“Dex.”
Her eyebrows
practically hit her hairline. “The rugby dude?”
“Is that the
girlfriend?” Dex asked in her ear.
“Yup,” she said to
them both.
“Ask him if he knows
how to re-virginise.”
Harper shook her
head. “I’m not asking him that.”
“Asking me what?”
His voice sounded delicious when it was amused. Thick and gooey, oozing all
over her body. Like chocolate topping.
God, she loved chocolate topping.
“You should totally
ask me whatever it is.”
“Trust me, you don’t
want to know.”
“Are you kidding?”
Em interrupted. “He’s a professional rugby star. Everyone knows they get laid all
the time. What he doesn’t know about a woman’s anatomy probably isn’t worth
knowing. He’ll know about re-virginising.”
Harper thought it
more likely he’d know about de-virginising.
“Did she just say
re-virginising?”
Had Harper been
sober, she would have paid more heed to Em’s sage words about the mating habits
of professional sportsmen and not the sweet seduction of a chocolate-topping
voice. She sighed. “Yup.”
“Why would anyone
want to re-virginise? Hell… Can someone re-virginise?”
“I don’t know and yes,
apparently, according to the internet. Spiritually and surgically.”
“That
sounds…painful.”
Harper laughed.
“Yes. For both.”
“And seriously,
would you want some strange dude with a scalpel down near your lady parts?”
She shuddered. “I
can think of better uses for a dude down near my lady parts.” His bark of
laughter was loud in her ear, and she realised what she said. Her face flamed.
“Oh God, sorry. I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“You certainly did,
Harper Nugent.”
“I take it back.”
“Oh no,” he chuckled
some more. “You can’t take that back.”
Harper groaned
internally. Jesus. Where was her filter? She glanced at the wine bottle.
Somewhere at the bottom of that, no doubt.
“Fine. Ignore it
then. It’s the booze. White wine makes me mouthy.”
“I can’t wait to see
that.”
His voice had
dropped an octave and roughened with the merest hint of a promise. It went
straight to those aforementioned lady parts, and Harper actually squirmed in
her chair to ease the sudden ache.
“She’s not serious,
is she?”
It took her a moment
to realise he’d moved on, and she leaped at the opportunity gratefully. “No.
She’s pissed. Both at men and in the alcoholic sense.” Em had already been
several shots of Schnapps down when Harper arrived. “Re-virginising is just one
of many options we’ve already discussed tonight. I think she wants to make a
voodoo doll next.”
He laughed again. “I
like the sound of her.”
Harper sighed,
looking at the gorgeous mop of caramel curls and the alabaster wedge of
cheekbone making up Em’s profile. She looked like one of those babies from
old-fashioned adverts for Pears soap. Only all grown-up.
“She’s gorgeous. You
should ask her out. You’d make beautiful babies.”
There was a long
pause. Long enough to make Harper think, somewhere in her alcohol-addled brain,
babies were not on Dexter Blake’s agenda.
“Thanks,” he said,
voice low and amused. “I think I’ll stick with my original plan, though.”
“Oh?”
“You and me. A
date.”
“Oh.” Harper’s
stomach tightened. She’d seen the way his teammates had been watching them
tonight. The way the younger guy had given the thumbs up. She could have kissed
Dex for his timing, but a girl had her pride, right? Plus she never wanted to
be one of those people who were gossiped about for punching above her
weight.
“Look. I’m very
flattered that you want to go out on a date with me, but—”
“You should do it,”
Em interrupted.
Harper blinked at
her best friend. “What?”
“I told you I liked
the sound of her,” Dex said in her ear.
Em shrugged. “It’d
be worth it just to piss off Chuckers.” If it was possible, Em disliked Chuck
more than Harper did.
Harper considered
that angle for moment, her head still spinning a little. It was a powerful
argument. Why not? If Dex was using her to win some kind of ridiculous frat boy
dare, why shouldn’t she use him, too?
“Okay, fine.”
Clearly there was a level of drunk where pride rapidly diminished. “But I’m not
sleeping with you. Or letting you anywhere near my lady parts.”
That low chuckle
again. It ruffled seductively along flesh and nerve endings, and Harper fought
the urge to stretch. And purr.
“You know you said
that out loud, too, right?”
The lazy smile in
his voice ruffled things even lower. “Yes. I know.”
“I will be on my
best behaviour. I promise I won’t even bring condoms.”
Sober Harper nodded,
pleased with the concession. Drunk, uninhibited Harper knew full well he could
ruin her without the aid of a condom, and she seemed perfectly fine with that,
too.
Uninhibited Harper
was dangerous. She was going to have to cut that bitch off at the knees.
About Amy Andrews
Amy is an award-winning, USA Today best-selling Aussie author who has written over fifty contemporary romances in both the traditional and digital markets. She has written for Harlequin Mills & Boon, Entangled, Harper Collins, Momentum, Tule and Escape. She's sold over a million books and been translated into thirteen different languages including manga.
Amy spent six years on the national executive of Romance Writers of Australia including a two year term as president and after many years of unofficial mentoring of emerging writers, Amy and her fellow Harlequin author Anna Cleary have started their own manuscript assessment business, Word Witchery, which specialises in romantic fiction. With unique insight into what makes a story that sells, Amy and Anna aim to help every manuscript shine.
Amy loves good books, fab food, great wine and frequent travel - preferably all four together. She lives on acreage on the outskirts of Brisbane with a gorgeous mountain view but secretly wishes it was the hillsides of Tuscany.
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